Calculated Intent
by Jarakrisafis
Summary: AU what could have happened if Isard succeeded in turning one of the members of Rogue Squadron.
1. Chapter 1

AU what could have happened if Isard succeeded in turning one of the members of Rogue Squadron.

* * *

Holidays aren't all they are cracked up to be.

Sometimes he thinks about telling one of his friends that fact.

But every time he starts to speak he stops, wondering why he can't say that his mind seems to flit from leaving to returning with nothing in between. That he can't remember his last vacation.

He sighs, running the calculations for the hyperspace jump to join the rest of the fleet for a last time.

The numbers check out.

But he still has a feeling that something isn't quite right.

He shakes his head lightly, staring at the stars flashing past his viewport. Perhaps the loss of memory has made him paranoid.

He grins as he reverts to realspace, his squadron forming up neatly behind him, they would probably be the first to agree that the memory loss is making him go crazy.

He flips the comm. to ask.

Then he stops.

It's a silly question really.

Instead he passes on the next co-ordinates and orders his squad back into hyperspace.

Perhaps he'll ask them when they arrive back at Home One.

He tilts his head as they arrive at the last coordinates. The star destroyers sitting in their path are not friendly.

He snaps out his orders to his squadron even as two interdictors bring their gravity well generators online.

He can hear frantic shouts over the comm. as his pilots realise the odds are not in their favour.

One voice catches his attention as he recognises his name, asking how they ended up in the middle of an imperial fleet.

He frowns, the feeling he had earlier about the calculations returns.

Then another voice cuts across the communications.

He closes his eyes.

"Thank you Antilles," she says. "Thank you for arriving as planned."

He can hear the amusement in her voice as his pilots fall silent.

'Ysanne' He replies, as he finally realises where his calculation went wrong.

Perhaps he should have tried harder to tell his friends he couldn't remember his holiday.


	2. Chapter 2

The voice was persistent, grating on his nerves until he opened his eyes.

"Ah you're back with us. How do you feel."

He blinked. Why was he here? The return jump to Home One shouldn't have landed him in the med bay.

Home One.

That wasn't right, they hadn't gone to Home One, they had gone, gone somewhere else.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

Somewhere else. He frowned. Debris in space. Broken, twisted metal. And, and something.

Something he was forgetting.

Somewhere he was forgetting.

He shook his head.

That debris, the markings. "My squadron?" he asked.

"I'm sorry General. You were the only survivor."

"How?" He asked as his throat constricted.

"Your ship was hit by an ion blast, it took a few days for us to track you down. You're lucky we found you, your air supply was running dangerously low."

He closed his eyes.

Lucky?

To be the only survivor of an ambush he didn't even remember.

"I'll leave you to get some rest General."

He heard the footsteps disappear as he was left alone.

Alone.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

They left him alone for the flight back to Coruscant.

Then the healers there told him he can't fly again. That he needs to recover from his trauma.

He thinks he just needs to get back to work.

To become so busy that he forgets that his squad mates aren't around.

That Tycho won't be rescuing him from his datapads.

That there won't be anymore pranks played on him.

That he's alone.

Maybe he should ask if they will let him get back to work again.

He pokes his head into the council room. Asks if they have a moment to speak to him.

Leia smiles as Ackbar gestures him in. Of course they always have a moment for one of the Republics heroes.

He rolls his eyes as the Bothan growls. The loathing is mutual.

He sees General Cracken frown as he points at his flightsuit "General Antilles? I wasn't aware you had been cleared for duty."

He tilts his head.

Of course he is cleared. He knows his duty.

His blaster clears its holster in a smooth motion.

Duty calls.

Silence.

He frowns at the blaster marks on the walls; the bodies slumped around the room.

Returning the empty blaster to his waist he winces, he hadn't felt a shot catch him.

He puts a hand to his wound, grimacing when it returns red.

"Wedge?" He turns at the surprise, the disbelief in the tone.

He stares at the red head. Airen?

No, Airen's dead.

They're all dead.

"Why?" Pash asks, blaster pointed clearly at his head.

And for once he's able to speak freely.

"Isard."

He stares at the blood on his hand.

"Isard." He says again, as his legs refuse to hold him.

And then he cries.


End file.
